


Sweetmeat

by Nununununu



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Sexual Assault Of Minor, Attempted non-consensual incest, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Auguste to the rescue, Brotherly Love, Character Death, Don't copy to another site, Gen, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Marlas, Protective Older Brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: “Would you like me to paint your face, Laurent?” His uncle’s voice sounds so gentle, so hopeful of an agreement.With Auguste unconscious due to his injuries after Marlas, the man who was set to become Regent seeks an opportunity to help cheer Laurent up.Or at least this is what he tells the innocent young prince.
Relationships: Auguste & Laurent (Captive Prince), Laurent/Regent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80
Collections: Deadly Intent Exchange





	Sweetmeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HandmaidenOfHorror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandmaidenOfHorror/gifts).



> (A line edited)

The lamps are burning low. It’s quiet at Auguste’s bedside, and very late.

His arms slung around the knee he’s got pulled up, Laurent curls deeper into the chair he’s appropriated as his, wishing he could concentrate enough to lose himself in a book yet unable to focus on a single word, his belly full of worry and fear.

The group of healers to the other side of the room murmur and straighten in acknowledgement when Laurent’s uncle enters the room, minus a companion for once.

Laurent has heard people call them ‘pets’, which is something his books have yet to explain, Auguste only ruffling Laurent’s hair when asked and claiming it a topic the young prince would be better off investigating when older.

Respect and affection for his brother led Laurent to drop the subject, leaving his constant hunger for knowledge unappeased.

“There you are, Nephew,” His uncle comes to a stop behind Laurent after exchanging a few words with the healers, skirting the silent figure of Auguste in his bed, bandage-wrapped, the prince’s wounds packed thick with healing herbs, “You must be exhausted. The healers here are excellent and your brother is in the best of hands. Come, eat and rest.”

“I –” Laurent wants to protest, to point out that he doesn’t want to and his uncle can’t make him. To insist he’ll stay here all night, awake, by Auguste’s side. But as little as Auguste seems to care for their uncle under the surface of his usual polite cheer, the older prince would definitely object if he knew Laurent had failed to take care of himself.

Were he conscious, Auguste would fuss in the way he only ever does with Laurent, seeing that his little brother’s every wish was met, and the absence of his bright smile and warm strength makes Laurent’s heart spiral all the way downwards all over again.

“When he awakes, he will hate to hear of you being so sad,” His uncle’s hand presses down on Laurent’s shoulder, almost too hard. It’s a comfort, though.

It’s supposed to be a comfort.

“Yes,” Laurent nods, because Auguste would hate that. 

“Come, I will find something to help cheer you before you sleep,” His uncle touches Laurent’s fingers where they lie on his lap and – hating the hollow, empty feeling inside him as his mind replays the moment Laurent watched the barbarian Akelion engage Auguste in such a shockingly unchivalrous fight on the battlefield and realised that the impossible might happen and his golden, beloved older brother might die – Laurent allows the older man to help him up from the chair.

He follows his uncle down the corridors, although his heart feels like it stays in the room with Auguste. Laurent wipes his cheeks on his cuffs to conceal the fact he is weeping as he enters his uncle’s chambers, and he takes the wine his uncle pours for him gratefully.

Auguste only ever lets him drink it watered down, and the alcohol sings on his lips. The strength of it undiluted is what Laurent needs. There are excesses of clothes slung over the two chairs by the fire, so he allows his uncle to steer him over towards the bed.

The mattress is soft and thick, the covers plush. A scent rising from them that Laurent can’t identify, soon lost to the taste of the wine 

“Here, Nephew,” His uncle presses another glass in his hand, along with a plateful of sweetmeats, “Try this.”

He’s very big leaning over Laurent like that, broad shouldered and huge in his robes, pausing as if waiting for Laurent’s reaction before drawing back. Not wanting to appear rude, Laurent therefore sips the fresh cup, even though he’s only just finished his previous drink.

He has no head for it; this new wine is sweeter, almost cloyingly so, and there’s a slight gritty aftertaste that coats his mouth unpleasantly.

“Please may I have one, Uncle?” As such Laurent indicates the sweets.

“Such pretty manners,” His uncle cups his cheek for a moment, his large hand hot, thumb a little hard on Laurent’s chin, “You may eat as many as you like. This is about cheering you up so you can sleep easy, isn’t it.”

“Mm,” Laurent nods. He only takes one all the same, finding he’s starting to feel a little hazy, the room seeming indistinct around the edges. He _is_ exhausted – today has been so utterly, unbearably horrible and his uncle is being so kind to him –

“I know just the thing to put a smile on that lovely face,” His uncle has opened a beautiful gilt chest by the bed, “All boys like dressing up and I know you have such a curiosity about pets.”

“Mm,” Leaning against the pillows a little in the hope of easing his whirling mind, Laurent can only suppose Auguste, who only seems to speak to their uncle when duty requires, must have nonetheless mentioned it to the older man.

Auguste –

Auguste wouldn’t mind their uncle talking about it with Laurent in that case, would he. The older prince has many duties and seems to shy away from certain aspects of the court, preferring to remain in the war rooms and on the battlefield. It’s odd for Laurent to think of his golden brother feeling uneasy about anything, but perhaps the older prince might have even judged their uncle better suited to explain.

If only Auguste were hale and awake for him to ask. If only the world would right itself again.

“Look,” His uncle’s weight tips Laurent in towards him when the older man sits down next to him on the bed. His large hands are cupped, brimming with jewels, the kind of decorations Laurent’s seen on the people called ‘pets’. And a little box his uncle opens –

Oh, that’s paint.

“Would you like me to paint your face, Laurent?” His uncle’s voice sounds so gentle, so hopeful of an agreement that Laurent feels obliged, despite the cloying sweetness in his mouth and the dizziness still assailing him meaning he just wants to go back to his own rooms.

No, not that.

He wants to go back where he belongs. Back to Auguste’s side.

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Laurent’s limbs feel so heavy when he tries to rise from the pillows, like he’s weighted down, “Thank you for your kindness, but I think I should sleep.”

At least, he tries to say this. But the words get stuck somewhere inside his mouth, and all that comes out is a noise much like a moan.

“Oh Laurent,” His uncle tuts indulgently, “Of course I understand. Another time, my dear child.” His hand is on Laurent’s knee again, his thigh, although Laurent’s hand is not there as well this time. “Why don’t you just close your eyes and everything will soon feel – so much better.”

He sounds so earnest when he says this.

“Yes, Uncle,” Laurent is already drifting away, no ability left in him to do anything else, his awareness of the world fading. He can feel his uncle doing – something – perhaps like he’s loosening the laces on Laurent’s clothes, unfastening his belt, no doubt seeking to aid his nephew’s rest.

A stir of unease passes through Laurent’s stomach despite his hazy near unconsciousness, and he jerks in surprise at a bang.

The door? The door to his uncle’s chambers?

Someone has shoved it open.

“What –?” It escapes Laurent as a whisper, his mind battling the dizzy sleepiness now, ears hearing the tell-tale sounds of a struggle – someone swearing, shouting, knocking things over.

His uncle grunting as if struck –

“Laurent,” A voice says urgently sometime later, breaking into the daze Laurent’s in where he can’t tell if he’s awake or trapped in a nightmare. The whole day was a nightmare.

This is –

“ _Laurent_!” A hand cups Laurent’s cheek, one so familiar and oh so loved it can’t be real, thumb brushing over his chin as if wiping away his uncle’s touch. There’s fear in that voice, desperation when it’s always previously been so steady, so sure. Fingers shaking a little as they touch him, shaking his shoulder, trying to rouse him –

“Auguste?” If this is a dream, Laurent doesn’t want to wake up. But his older brother’s grip on his shoulder is insistent, welcome in a way their uncle’s was not, and Laurent fights sleep’s persistent hold in order to force his eyelids open and see –

Auguste.

Wrapped in a patient’s robes, with blood spilling through his bandages, looking drawn and ashen in a way he’s _never_ been, his mouth compressed into a hard flat line when it’s always before been curved in a brilliant grin.

“ _Laurent_ ,” Auguste says a third time, swaying into him suddenly, so much so he nearly falls on the bed as his legs go out.

“What – what –” Laurent finds himself hiccupping, clutching his brother – because Auguste just all but fainted; because his brother nearly _died_ earlier but must have somehow forced himself out of his sick bed out of concern for Laurent, because –

Because –

Because that’s what Auguste does. What he’s always done. However Laurent may be a pale shadow in comparison to his older brother, Auguste has always put him first.

Laurent’s crying suddenly, unable to help it, tears of pure relief at his brother’s presence – alive and with him! – streaking down his hot cheeks, hugging Auguste as fiercely as he can with his still distant seeming limbs.

“You are well?” Auguste pulls back seemingly only so he can run his gaze over Laurent from top to toe, his own eyes notably wet, “Unharmed? That _bastard_ –”

It’s rare, so rare, to hear the golden prince swear.

“Uncle was –” Laurent fumbles, unsure. It had seemed so unremarkable at the time and he’d felt so taken care of. But a chill travels down the length of his spine now.

What _had_ their uncle been doing? And where has he gone?

There’s a large lump on the floor by the overturned chairs near the fire, covered by one of the blankets off the bed. Laurent finds himself staring at the thing as the lingering haze in his mind slows his efforts to process.

“Don’t look at it,” Auguste says quietly but firmly, “Laurent, please. I saw what he was – what he was trying to do to you – will you please tell me –”

His hands fist in the remaining blankets on the bed until they’re white knuckled, his whole body tense. His blood is soaking faster through the bandages.

No wonder he’s shaking and struggling to speak.

“I’m unharmed,” Laurent will only wonder much later whether his uncle had added anything to the wine. For now all he can do is press blankets against his older brother’s wounds in alarm, “Please, Auguste. You need to see the healers right away.”

“Thank – thank goodness,” Auguste looks very much as if he wants to say more, but bows forwards until his golden head is brushing the mattress, Laurent letting out an involuntary cry of alarm.

Unconscious. His brother’s unconscious.

Laurent can hear voices and footsteps now, belatedly – why hadn’t anyone come earlier? Wouldn’t his uncle’s chamber be included on the guards’ routine patrol? Holding Auguste as best and as close as he can, he calls to them, telling them to hurry, to come and see to the older prince.

The terrible fear has gone from his stomach along with the haziness from his mind though, now that he has incontrovertible proof his brother is alive, Auguste in his arms a warm and solid presence.

The healers will help his brother and Laurent will stay by his side, and not allow himself to be pulled away again for any reason.

With the confidence of youth, he finds himself certain everything’s going to be all right somehow. It has to be.

Because Auguste lives.


End file.
